Origins
by AzureSky.ofWater
Summary: A collection of three-chapter stories on the origins of the Cadre, since not much is known about any of them except for Rowan.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The characters don't belong to me, or some of them anyway, the OCs do, and so does the idea.

 **This is a Lorcan origin story.**

 **The boy with no name.**

He'd been given a name once, when he was born. But his mother had died soon after and as a half-breed no-one cared to tell him, or look after him. He had been rejected by the world, by the Fae within Doranelle who saw him as nothing more than a hybrid, a child of a Fae but also a child of a human, and so he was shown nothing but contempt. That had been fifty years ago, perhaps more, but not less.

He had no name. He was the nameless bastard child of Doranelle, the one that everyone ignored, that no-one saw, that some pitied. He didn't want their pity, nor their recognition, he wanted them all to die, to disappear and leave him alone in the world, a world where he could be nothing and everything. A world where the highborn Fae wouldn't sneer and taunt him with the smell of their food, with their burning fires and their warm clothes.

He had tried to steal that afternoon, tried to take a warm loaf from a bakery. He couldn't help it, it smelt so delicious and mouth-watering and he was so hungry and desperate. He hadn't noticed the Fae soldier standing not far from him, watching his every move. So when he'd finally, _finally_ managed to get the baker turned away and grabbed the small loaf, he was there, pulling him back and throwing him against the wall of the opposite building.

He was powerful, too powerful for him to defend against, he'd thrown him against that building so quickly, so easily. Then again, even if he was a fully grown half-Fae male, he was starved, almost dead. He didn't feel anything as the Fae soldier dragged him away from the bakery, away from the delicious smells of the square, didn't feel it as he beat him into oblivion in a dark alley where no-one would see him. And then he left.

He was so tired.

The dark shadows in the corner of his vision grew. Death wasn't far away. At least he would be able to die out of sight.

A strange female scent wrapped around him and he lifted his head. A beautiful female stood before him, watching him with large, sad eyes. She stepped towards him, and then stopped.

Good. No creature in their right mind would touch him. He was a disgusting creature.

As the blackness rushed in, he felt cool, slender hands reach around him and hold him. Death's release was so close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Throne of Glass isn't mine, the OCs are my own and so are the stories and the plots.

 **The girl who saved him**

She didn't know why she'd brought him to her house, why she'd saved him. He was nothing, no-one, and yet he had seemed so sad, so desperate and… a strange current had flowed within her towards him. She'd tugged back at the thread and so she'd brought him here, cleaned him up, healed his wounds and bought new clothes that seemed like they would fit, changed him into them and left him sleeping soundly on her bed.

Vera Greyleaf sat down on her sofa with a steaming mug of tea, some biscuits and a book and started reading. It was a history book, detailing what had happened in the Valg war and also what had happened in the conflict against Erawan. It was a novelistic adaptation, but far more interesting and truthful than the factual copies that were kept in the library of Doranelle. The truth of what Maeve did was horrifying at the best of times, but the more of the book she read, and the more times she read it, her opinion of Maeve dropped, but she was their Queen and even if she was corrupt, no enemy had ever entered Doranelle, no enemy had ever crossed the Cambrian Mountains.

She read until she'd finished her tea and biscuits and then carried on reading for an hour, perhaps more, when there was nothing but the last dregs of tea in the bottom of the mug. Putting the book down she stood up and stretched, before padding over to her bedroom where the large yet starved body lay on her bed. Or had been lying. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking outside the window at the city set in the valley, the mist coming off the river managing to somehow reach her house despite being several hundred feet above the river basin. He turned when he heard her come in and looked at her.

"Why" was all he said, but he didn't need to say any more. Why had she stopped to look? Why had she not left him to die, alone and ignored? Why had she held him as he passed out? Why had she carried him all the way here? Why had she healed him? Cleaned him and clothed him? Why had she saved him?

She didn't know the answer to any of the questions in his eyes, so she moved into her room and sat beside him on her bed, facing him. "I don't know, but I just couldn't leave you to die." That much she knew. She wouldn't have been able to walk away from him, even if she had wanted to. "Come on, make yourself at home and sit at the table, I'll get you something to eat."

He obeyed instantly, stood up and followed her out of her room and sat down in the chair she had pulled out for him, looking around nervously and… that was disbelief in his face. She laid the table, put some bread and butter in the centre as well as some roasted vegetables and went to the large stove to take out the chicken which, if she may say so herself, was cooked to perfection.

He was hungry. Very hungry. Starving in fact. As soon as she'd put food on his plate, after the first hesitant bite which she'd had to encourage him to have, the food swiftly disappeared, followed by most of the roasted vegetables along with half the loaf of bread. Vera smiled a little as he ate, and continued smiling after he'd finished and thanked her profusely again and again. And again. And a few times more after that.

"What's your name?" she asked, once he'd finished thanking her and they were both sitting on her sofa with steaming mugs of tea.

He looked down at his tea for a while, and a glimmer of fear flashed over his face, before he looked up again. "What's yours?"

Vera contemplated telling him that he was the one sitting on her couch, drinking her tea after eating most of her dinner wearing the clothes that she had been generous enough to use her own money to buy for him. But perhaps… perhaps he wasn't able to tell her his name. "Vera. My name is Vera Greenleaf."

If it hadn't been for her Fae hearing she would have missed the whisper of "I don't have a name." but she caught it and registered it and then fell silent. He didn't have a name, or rather, whatever name he had been given was forgotten due to lack of use.

"In that case, you need a name!" it was harder than she imagined, that cheerful tone. Her heart ached for him, but pity wouldn't help him.

He snapped his eyes up to hers, and hope was gleaming there. Hope for a better life, a future. She had read plenty of myths and legends, the most fascinating being those from other lands. She knew a good name, a name that fitted him, fierce with hope, hope like a child. "Lorcan" The name slipped out before she could stop it, but… but he smiled.

"Lorcan"


End file.
